You were insecure. Insecure. You’d put up with his shit for so long, understanding his work as a vigilante, understanding the canceled dates, movie nights, and cozy evenings at home. And he was surprised that you didn’t leave him. You gave him a child, a beautiful, healthy boy, and he was so proud of both of you.

You did all of these things, and you were worried that some stretch marks would make you unattractive to him, that he would leave you over them. He couldn’t believe you when you said how ugly you found them, how you were worried about them, and how you said that you didn’t want a second kid because you were scared that you would have more stretch marks.

He would’ve understood if you were fine with only one kid because you wanted to, but if you were holding back from having more kids because of stretch marks? Yeah, no, he didn’t like that. You were beautiful; how could you not see it?

You were making dinner, your son sleeping in his crib. While you were chopping some vegetables, Dick came behind you, putting his arms around you and kissing your cheek. “Hey, darling, what are you making?” he asked, rubbing your stomach with his hands. When you tensed up, he kissed your cheek again. “If stretch marks are the price for having our amazing kid, I’d say we got a pretty good deal. I’ll love you, always, with or without stretch marks.”